


four pink walls

by caroandmally



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, More ships and characters added as it goes, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caroandmally/pseuds/caroandmally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles written for the zayn!centric ficathon over at livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm hoping you're watching me too | zayn/frank ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! Basically there's a zayn!centric ficathon happening over at [livejournal](http://eccentricsimply.livejournal.com/8386.html#comments) and I just wanted to post my fills over here. Each chapter is a different fill with a different prompt/ship and I really hope you like them :D
> 
> I don't own these people, have no association to them whatsoever. These are just works of fiction.  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **zayn!centric ficathon fill #1 - prompt: zayn/frank ocean, blind date (“canon”-setting or AU)**

Zayn’s friends have a history of setting him up for failed blind dates. It’s an ongoing cycle of suggestions that turn out to be the worst ideas ever. After the last one, though, leaving the restaurant with pasta, tomato sauce and water on his hair and all over his clothes, he’s far less willing to take up Liam’s newest suggestion.  
  
“No,” Zayn says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  
  
“But Zayn,” his friend whines, pouts at him. Not that Zayn minds, too busy grading papers to pay Liam any mind. “I promise this guy is a good one.”  
  
“And so was the last one and the three before him,” he points out, still not looking up from where he’s telling dear Alice that she needs to check her spelling before submitting an essay. “You truly don’t expect me to believe you.”  
  
Liam waves a hand in front of Zayn’s face and he sighs, setting his pen down and finally turning to look at the other man. He’s serious, far more than Zayn expected him to be, and Zayn knows, he just _knows_ , he’s going to end up saying yes.  
  
“He’s friends with Tyler-  
  
“Tyler?” Zayn interrupts him, eyebrows shooting further up on his forehead. “The crazy math teacher you complain about all the time?”  
  
“Shush, I’m talking,” Liam’s look is pointed and Zayn raises his hands in an apologetic way. “Anyway, he’s friends with Tyler and I’ve met him, Zayn. He’s brilliant. I swear, he’s- he’s _amazing_ for you. I’ve never met someone who honestly matches you as well as he does. He’s a Philosophy professor,” that perks up Zayn’s interest slightly and Liam notices, of course he does, because the fucker smiles. “Uni level, like you, unlike me and Tyler. Just give him a chance, yeah?”  
  
He considers it for a moment, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he weighs the pros and cons. At the end, Zayn reckons _nothing_ can be worse than an ex-boyfriend showing up, so he nods. Liam’s smile grows bigger.  
  
“Good because I already told Frank you’re going.”  
  
_“Liam.”_  
  
-  
  
Zayn doesn't get to talk to Frank until the day of their date, Liam being the one to let him know Frank will be picking him up at Zayn's place and that they are going from there. Claiming he wants the date to be one hundred percent blind - pretty pointless since Zayn already knows his name and what he does for a living, Liam refuses to even show him a picture.  
  
"He's your type, Zayn, don't worry about that," he brushes it off when Zayn asks and it only gets him to be truly worried since Liam's never been the best at knowing Zayn's type _at all._  
  
-  


By the time Zayn starts second guessing this decision, he’s already late. Halfway into his black t-shirt, he also wonders whether he’s underdressed, if he should’ve done a better job at picking some outfit that isn’t a combo of black t-shirt, skinny jeans and black sneakers. Before he considers walking back into his room and looking for better clothes, he checks the window and notices the silver car parked in front of his building, the one he doesn’t recognize at all and must probably belong to Frank.  
  
Zayn sighs, pulls the longer strands of his hair into a knot before picking his keys, wallets and phone and making his way out of the apartment and outside. Frank is leaning against the side of the car and Zayn’s first reaction is to breathe out a sigh of relief upon noticing that the man’s outfit isn’t different than his, except his t-shirt is white and the jeans hang loose on his hips. His second reaction is to smile – for once, Liam got his type right.  
  
He’s taller than Zayn, so they are already off for a good start. Frank’s not exactly strong but he’s bulkier than Zayn, broad shoulders that catch his attention for a second too long. His _face_ is the killer though, Zayn’s gaze drifting between his eyes and his lips. When he gets closer, he notices the glasses Frank is fiddling with, the ones that go on his face as Zayn goes to stand in front of him.  
  
“Hi,” Zayn greets him, self-conscious out of a sudden, shying slightly at the way Frank looks at him, like Zayn is beautiful. And honestly, he’s not one to deny that he’s good looking because he _knows_ , but this? This is completely different. Blind dates have never looked at him like this and it warms something inside of him.  
  
“Hello,” his voice is _deep_ too, and Zayn feels like crying. “You got everything?” Zayn nods. “Good, I was thinking we could grab a bite somewhere fast? Liam mentioned you’re an English Literature teacher, so I thought we could go to that new poetry bar that opened recently, what do you think?”  
  
Zayn’s truly speechless. He’s not used to people actually caring and wanting to take him somewhere they think he’s going to have a good time. It’s usually a dinner at a fancy restaurant – or not – or a movie night, there was also a bowling place one, but never something like this. He doesn’t believe his night is starting this good already, not when he’s so used to things not working out. He can’t help that his smile only grows bigger.  
  
“I’d love that, yeah,” and Frank mirrors Zayn’s smile.  
-  
  
They spend the entire time they are eating talking.  
  
And it’s not the type of talk that could count as small talk – the type that gets _boring_ for Zayn at one point because it doesn’t tell him shit about anything and it lacks the amount of substance he needs in order to keep him interested. No, they talk about their jobs, going into as much detail as possible without the need for extra words that only serve for filling. Frank tells him about meeting Tyler and thinking he was the craziest motherfucker he had ever seen, and it was inevitable the two of them had to become best friends. Zayn laughs, tells Frank about sitting next to Liam in high school, the two of them being the only brits in their school, and finding a friend for life.  
  
They discuss theories, Frank asks him about literature related topics and lets Zayn ramble for minutes about the importance of Virginia Woolf and how he thinks Dickens is overrated. Frank is more pointed when he talks about his own opinions and positions he defends, but he says just as much as Zayn does with fewer words. By the time they realize they should get going, the poetry club is already crowded and they are lucky to find a couple of empty spots in the back.  
  
Zayn wants to say he paid attention to the poets spilling their hearts out in the stage, but he’s too busy studying Frank’s profile and the way the older man reacts to the poems, his facial expressions and how easy he is to read, at the same time he remains a mystery to Zayn.  


“Something on my face?” Frank asks, and Zayn startles, not knowing he was caught staring. There’s a hint of teasing in the man’s tone, though, and he doesn’t seem bothered at all. Zayn’s cheeks still burn.  
  
“Shut it,” he tells him, sticking his tongue out and getting the reaction he was looking for – Frank laughs at him and Zayn joins him. He doesn’t protest when an arm comes to wrap around his shoulders. Instead, Zayn leans into the warmth, scooting closer on the seat they are sharing and letting his head rest on Frank’s shoulder.  
  
(His stomach flips when a kiss is pressed to the top of his head, but Zayn hides his satisfied smile from Frank.)  
  
-  
  
Not only does Frank insist on taking him home, he also makes a point out of opening Zayn’s door for him – unnecessary because he can open his own doors, thank you very much – and walking him towards the front door of his building.  
  
“Did you have a good time, superstar?” Frank asks, carding his hand through Zayn’s hair in a way that makes him turn into mush.  
  
(His cheeks burn after the pet name, something Frank picked up after Zayn admitted to considering trying out for The X Factor, back when he still lived in England, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the bed.)  
  
“Yeah, I kinda did,” Zayn admits, looking up at Frank from under his eyelashes, in a way he hopes can be  
considered flirty. His words are teasing, as much as the way he smiles, slightly biting his tongue.  
  
“ _Kinda_?” Frank chuckles, hand moving to the back of Zayn’s neck, the other resting on Zayn’s hip. His own hands are playing with Frank’s shirt, tugging the older man closer. “I guess I will have to try harder next time.”  
  
Zayn nods, standing on his toes so his face is on the same level as Frank’s, their lips mere inches apart.  
  
“Probably,” he tells him, their lips almost brushing. “And then maybe I will let you kiss me.”  
  
Zayn draws back then, but not before pressing his lips to Frank’s cheek fleetingly. He starts walking back, not turning around so he can watch the way Frank is looking at him, the almost there shake of his head.  
  
“Give me a call, yeah?” Zayn asks and the other man nods. “Goodnight.”  
  
He turns around, takes the elevator without looking back. There’s a comfortable heat that runs through his body, the good feeling that comes from having a good time which he hasn’t felt in a while. He gave his number to Frank halfway through their dinner and Zayn’s hopeful that maybe, maybe, the older man is going to stick to his words and actually call him, ask him out.  
  
Nothing prepares Zayn for the text he gets right before he gets in bed.  
  
_goodnight superstar x_  
  
He goes to sleep with a smile on his lips.  



	2. that's just how we do | zayn/rita ora (platonic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **zayn!centric ficathon fill #2 - prompt: zayn + rita ora (platonic), the second you called him out on his dentures, i decided we would be best friends**

Rita calls him randomly on a Monday.

It’s not like Zayn isn’t interested on getting calls from her – on the contrary, ever since they met each other, back in 2012, Zayn has been nothing but fond towards the woman. She’s nice and good spirited, always trying to keep the conversation interesting. And on top of that, she hasn’t said a single bad thing about him publicly, which recently has been a very rare thing.

“Zayn, mate, hi!” She greets him, voice slightly high-pitched but accent different enough from the people he’s growing used to for him to feel slightly comforted.

“Hey, Rita,” he says back, sitting back on the sofa, Rhino groaning in his sleep when the movement startles him where he’s asleep on Zayn’s lap. “How’re ya?”

“’m good, good,” she sounds like she’s in a rush so it’s not surprising that she doesn’t extend her answer. “Listen, I’m going to LA in a couple of days, we should meet up, yeah? Have a bit of a chat. I could give you some tips about the management and whatnot, how does that sound?”

 _That_ surprises him. Rita’s always been closer to Harry and not him, and he reckons if it’d been anyone else he would’ve some reluctance on accepting it, but, well. Zayn likes to believe he’s good at understanding people, most of the time, and he doesn’t think Rita is someone he should worry about.

“Yeah, sure,” he answers, scratching the back of his dog’s neck. “Should we go out for dinner or something?”

-

They are five wine glasses in and Zayn’s laughing harder than he has in the past few months.

Rita is just- she’s _hilarious_ , okay. And not in a she’s-trying-too-hard or she’s-flirting-with-you way, no. She’s just the type of person who has the perfect punch-lines and the most diverse and _insane_ stories to share, and the alcohol makes everything ten times funnier than it actually is. Zayn’s already spilled a bit of the red drink on his outfit, knows Caroline is going to give him a dirty look for it when she arrives in Cali tomorrow, but he’s having too much of a good time to actually be bothered.

“And Simon? Gosh, Simon is fucking unbearable sometimes,” Rita says, hiccupping behind manicured hands. Zayn nods, taking a sip from his sixth glass and noticing that the room is spinning slightly. It’s alright, it’s not like he’s driving home anyway. “He sits there with that almighty pose of his acting like he’s too good for some of the acts when we all know those people are far more talented than his ass could ever dream of being. Nick told me there was this one time he started crying with the audition and he just didn’t say anything because he didn’t want anyone to see him being weak or whatever.”

“Such a prick,” Zayn pinches in and Rita assents, flaying her arms around and accidentally spilling wine from the glass in her hand. She doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“I know!” The woman only nods, does a playful roll of her eyes before setting the glass down and taking Zayn’s hands in hers.

(Zayn knows if a pap were to take a picture of them like this he’d have the most annoying day on the following morning, but they purposely chose a secluded restaurant without tipping any paparazzi with the intention of having a good night without having to worry about rumors and whatnot.)

“I’ve been meaning to tell you how fucking _sensational_ that comeback to Calvin was,” her words are a bit slurred and Zayn’s brain is having a hard time catching up, but he eventually understands what she’s saying and he nods, smiling. “A fucking asshole, he is. He was ugly as fuck, still is, I don’t know how I let myself get with that guy.”

And Zayn _kinda_ connects the dots in his head, but he doesn’t care enough to make a big deal about this. Instead, he squeezes her hands back and leans further in his seat.

“Tell me more shit about him, c’mon.” 


	3. a heart full of love | gen!fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **zayn!centric ficathon fill #3 - prompt: zayn, gen or zayn/anyone, he keeps adopting dogs and other pets while living in LA**

The first time it happens, he’s with Malay.

Rhino is safe back home, probably destroying _another_ of Zayn’s pillows, but it’s been a while that he’s thought about getting his baby some company. Plus, he’s used to having _several_ pets, not only just one. His agreement with Perrie had been pretty clear, and as much as he misses Gus and Arnie and Hatchi and every single one of them, they are hers now.

It’s no surprise that his interest perks up when they walk past a dog adoption fair. 

“Mate, wait a sec, yeah?” He turns to Malay, interrupting the older man in the middle of a sentence. He doesn’t seem to mind, only nods and Zayn walks towards one of the shelters’ stand. 

The place is not too crowded and for that Zayn is half-thankful and half-upset. He’d put in detriment his privacy if that meant all the animals around here would be going home today. As it is, he lets his eyes wander through the dogs behind the small fence. Zayn would take them all with him if he could – logically he _can_ , he has more than enough money for that, but what he lacks is _time_ even now -, but he has to settle for just one, unfortunately.

Eventually his gaze falls on the black Labrador sitting the furthest from him. The dog is too big to be a puppy and the way he’s looking at Zayn makes his heart break in the worst way. 

He takes the three year-old dog home and is more than happy to find out her name is Ivy.

-

Zayn is in New York, doing promo for his album, when he runs into another adoption fair. This time he’s with Caroline, who has her hand hooked on the crook of his elbow, and Alfredo, who doesn’t complain when Zayn asks if they can stop for a bit, knows they don’t really have to worry for now.

“What is it, love?” Caroline asks him and Zayn just points towards the animals. The woman rolls her eyes. “Another?”

He only smiles, thinks about Rhino and Ivy and how much he misses them, wishes he could have them both with him right now, but trusts Iris enough to look after them while he’s gone. 

This time, Zayn is immediately drawn to the one he’s told is a mix of pit bull and boxer, his caramel and white coat completely different from his babies back home. When Zayn goes to touch him, the dog whines, doesn’t move but seems scared for his life and the veterinary explains to him that Peanut was terribly abused before he ended up in the shelter. 

Caroline’s smile when Zayn goes back to them with the dog in his arms is only slightly disapproving and mostly fond.

-

“Zayn, are you trying to raise a zoo or something, love?” It’s his mother’s first comment when she opens the door to his house and the four dogs – Rhino, Ivy, Peanut and the recently added husky shepherd mix Nana – run up to her. They are not the only ones, Zayn himself scratching his kitten Morgana’s neck while the orange and white cat plays with a toy. He has a grey cat too, but Sherlock is far too antisocial to actually bother greeting anyone or care for asking for his attention.

“I like the company,” he says simply, putting Morgana aside so he can stand up and wrap his arms around his mother. “The drive from the airport was okay?” 

She nods, kissing his cheek before she takes step back.

“Oh, sunshine, I’ve missed you so much,” Zayn knows she’s going to start sobbing in a second if he doesn’t do something, so he gives her another hug, her tears definitely soaking a part of his t-shirt. “Let me go for a wee, yeah? And we will have a nice chat. We’re both needing that aren’t we?”

“Yep, we are,” he agrees and lets go of her, watches as she gathers herself and walks down the hallway, towards the guest bathroom. He’s about to offer to take her bags up the stairs when his mother lets out a scream, and runs back to him.

His smile is only slightly apologetic.

“You met Nagini the snake didn’t you?”

“ _Zain Javadd Malik_.”


	4. don't let the high go to waste | zayn/frank ocean/rihanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **zayn!centric ficathon fill #4 - prompt: zayn/frank ocean/rihanna, i can’t feel my face, what are we smoking anyway?**
> 
>  
> 
> tw: drugs and sexual content

The smell of spray paint still lingers in the room, but it’s faint, compared to the stench of the blunt they keep passing between each other. It’s almost burned out, ready to join the other two in the ashtray next to the couch, but Zayn takes one more pull, lets the smoke fills his lungs and his high to be added to. He loves the feeling of being suspended, of his mind not being in the same place as his body. 

It’s some good shit.

As per usual, it’s the three of them. Zayn in the middle, Rihanna’s legs thrown over his lap and Frank’s hand massaging the back of his neck. They spoil him with attention sometimes, particularly when they’re high, but Zayn doesn’t think they are aware of it. Perhaps it’s because he’s the youngest, maybe because he’s the easiest to play with but- he’s not exactly complaining.

Not when he catches himself laughing at a joke Frank says in an almost whispered tone. Not when Rih buries her face on his neck to muffle her own amused laughter, her breath tickling his skin in a way that makes his toes curl inside his socks. Not when the feeling of comfort and belonging is stronger than anything he’s ever felt in his life whenever he’s in the company of these two.

They are all so in tune with each other that the shift in the situation comes easily and without pageantry. Lips that were previously only hovering over his skin start pressing down on it, leaving kisses and sucking bruises Zayn knows are going to be easy to see when morning comes, but he doesn’t _care_. How could he, truly?

Frank’s hand on the back of his neck is gone, rests high on his thigh instead, playing with the inside seam of his jeans. It disappears again and, on the next moment, there are fingers that tangle in his head, force his head down and his eyes to fall open – Zayn doesn’t remember them slipping shut – and he’s met with the sight of Frank’s face and his heart barely manages to skip a beat.

“Hey,” Zayn says, before he can help himself, and teeth grazing at his skin is the way Rih finds to tease him in that moment for the primary school reaction. Or maybe she’s just having fun, Zayn’s brain is not working in a speed fast enough to try to pinpoint what is the case here.

The older man doesn’t reply though, simply takes Zayn’s chin in his hand and taps his thumb against Zayn’s lower lip. It prompts him to let his mouth to fall open, which is exactly what Frank is looking for here, since he leans forward and blows the smoke into Zayn’s mouth. It’s easy, something they do that all the time, and he lets his throat adjust to the thick smoke, savors the taste in his mouth before blowing it out, away from Frank’s face. 

That grants him a smile and lips pressing against his in a proper kiss, one he lets himself sink into, but not lose himself in to the point where he ignores the woman on his other side. It’s only a couple of minutes before Zayn draws back, tugging on Rihanna’s hair – earning himself a grunt – so he can kiss her instead, deep and with everything he has. 

From there, it’s a mess of getting rid of clothes and trying to keep mouths attached through it all. They are too lazy to make their way to the bedroom, don’t really care enough to do so in fact, but it’s okay because Zayn keeps lube stocked in one of the boxes of the room – his art room, his favorite place in the whole world he gets to share with his two favorite people – and Frank stands up to go fetch it.

Meanwhile, Zayn slides to the floor between Rihanna’s thighs. She’s the one who kept most of the outfit she had before. Instead of being clad on the joggers she’s nicked from Zayn and the tank top which definitely belongs to Frank, she only has on the top, her long legs out in the open, thighs bracketing Zayn’s face.

She’s gentle in a way people don’t understand she can be so well, her fingers carding through Zayn’s hair while he presses kisses to the inside of her thighs, drawing a path towards where she wants him to be. When he gets there, he’s eager, tongue flicking over her clit a couple of times before sucking it into his mouth. Her breath hitches, loudly, and it takes everything he has in himself for him not to feel smug about it.

Zayn feels it when Frank kneels behind him, spreads his legs just a little bit before pressing a slicked finger to his entrance. He does his best to keep focused on the task at hand, but he can’t help it that he’s over sensitized because of the weed, being far too hard for him to keep the moans he lets out whenever Frank pushes his finger up to the third knuckle. Or when he adds a second. Or a third.

“He’s good,” Rih is the one to say it and Zayn looks up to check, licking her languidly. She has another lit blunt between her fingers and she’s staring at the two of them in awe – they won’t ever let themselves be fooled by this thought because they _know_ she’s the one in charge here.

The fingers slip out in the next minute, the tip of Frank’s dick pushing in slowly. Zayn can’t help it this time, he has to stop what he’s doing so he can breathe, allow his body to adjust to the intrusion and to handle the pleasure which is, for once, bigger than the pain. He rests his forehead against Rihanna’s thigh and she plays with his hair, hushing him and reminding him to breathe. Frank does too, words of encouragement breathed out into Zayn’s ear as he bottoms out, his front pressed flushed against Zayn’s back.

“C’me ‘ere,” Rihanna calls when Frank’s stops talking and leans down. This time, it’s them kissing and Zayn watching from a front row seat. When they break apart, Zayn is taken over by the urge to give it back to them for everything they’ve done to him. So he goes for it, fucking himself back on Frank’s cock while burying his face between Rih’s legs once more, this time going faster, much _much_ faster, but not without losing the technique it took him _years_ to perfect.

It’s not long before she’s tightening the grip on his hair and letting out a small sob, her entire body shaking with her orgasm. Zayn licks her through it, even after Frank puts his hands on his hips and starts fucking into his faster and rougher. This is everything he could ask for and more, and he only draws back when a particular thrust gets Frank’s cock to brush against his prostate. Otherwise Zayn would keep going, probably try to get her to come once more.

“So tight,” Frank whispers to him, his movements not faltering once, and Zayn’s just letting out small grunts, the pleasure and the fuzziness in his brain keeping him from being eloquent. “Such a good boy, always so good to us,” and arm wraps around his chest, pulling Zayn into a vertical position. The angle changes then, and he cries out when his prostate keeps being stimulated at every single one of Frank’s thrusts.

The older man comes first, though, and Zayn knows it before it happens. He knows by the way his breathing starts to become even more irregular, his words die out and instead he just breathes against Zayn’s skin. The younger man takes the hand on his chest in his, tangling their fingers and clutching on it when he feels the older man start coming.

He’s still hard when Frank slips out, falling on his back on the floor and trying to regain his breath. Zayn doesn’t blame him – he’s feeling breathless as it is, the effects of the drug and the sex being far too _overwhelming_ for them to deal with sometimes. He goes to wrap his hand around himself, but Rih has different plans.

She reaches for him, tugging him into his feet and Zayn would cringe at the feeling of cum running down the back of his thighs if he wasn’t too busy focusing on the woman spreading her legs for him. He doesn’t hesitate before slipping into her, holding her calves as he rests one knee on the couch for the leverage. When she’s being fucked she’s loud, yelling out curses while Zayn whispers the same _fuck_ over and over again.

One of her hands sneaks down and he knows she’s rubbing her clit. It’s not long before she’s coming again and Zayn follows her, buried deep inside her. He’s quiet when he comes, but his entire body gives out. He has to brace himself with hands on the back of the couch so he won’t fall on top of her. It takes Zayn another minute before he slips out of her. She cringes and he doesn’t blame her, only falls on the couch next to her, his forehead resting against her shoulder.

He’s sore all over, but sated and still so, _so_ high, he can’t get over this buzz. Frank takes the other seat next to him and they’re back to the arrangement they had before. None of them talks, but Rih passes him the blunt she didn’t care to put out and Zayn takes a long drag, wonders if he can get any higher.

Between the two people he loves the most, Zayn reckons this is as high as it gets. 


End file.
